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I know of hands that ink truth
I know of feelings that got hurt
I know of my body you burnt
I know of my ashes you spurned
Be it day or night, still for you I yearn
Hurt me with Inks that brandish truth in its slippery wake
If I read and cry
If I read and I smile
Then the effort of the Poet have been worthwhile…
Bee will go to its hive
Poets should rescue sinking lives
Let not nights consume our pleading light
Seek out your Hurtin’ Pen and
Let Her say:
I hurt for a change
I hurt for Harvest
* Dedicated is dedicated to all poets on WRRPoetry
Written by: Olusa Femi Folahan
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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